To Hell and Back
by toomuchchampagne
Summary: Two lost souls find each other in Paris. Here starts their crazy journey around the world and inside themselves. Can they handle the truth they're looking for? And when you go to hell, can you really come back? Hints of C/B, Effy/Fredy,Effy/Tony
1. Paris is burning

A round-trip to Hell, for two.

Summary: Two lost souls find each other in Paris. Here starts their crazy journey around the world and inside themselves. Can they handle the truth they're looking for?

Not really any pairing. But I'm focusing on Chuck and Effy and their relationship. More psychological than fluffy. And my own explanation to this two mysterious characters. Especially why Effy didn't talk in the first season (and before).

The story takes place when Chuck runaway after his father death in season 2, and at the end of season 3 for Effy.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl or Skins.

Warning: ... It's Skins and Chuck Bass so of course it's M.

Author's Note: I'm French so please forgive the mistakes I've probably done. I'm currently looking for a beta-reader so...

Music: The song for this chapter is Paris is burning by Ladyhawke. Kind of cliché but I love it.

* * *

She came in so easily it's almost funny. In fact she thinks it's ironic, the power of her fucking body. It's the forbidden fruit that every man is lusting for, and the Apple of discord that brings destruction all around her.

That's why she ran away in the first place. But it's also thanks to her body that she was here. It's the only reason she got into this oh-so VIP party. Hell, that's the only reason she successfully got to Paris in the first place. She met this random guy in a London bar who asked her to join him and his sister in their wild trip to Paris, just because he wanted to fuck her.

And now here she was, in one of these places "where rich kids come to die" like someone had said to her once. Even here, all the eyes were on her body, touching her curves with their stares. Or maybe she was just high. Paint it Black was playing loudly, and a lot of young people with designer clothes and probably important Daddy where swaying their hips to the music.

She closed her eyes and decided to do the same. She stopped thinking and let the music take her body away, releasing her mind for a few moments.

That's when he spotted her in this crowd of "fils de", this older guy with a Russian wrestler face, sitting among young and beautiful people. When she opened her eyes he was still staring at her, high as fuck. With his hand, he indicated her to come over to his table.

When she arrived, the girl sitting next to him gave Effy her seat, vacating it and moving to the dance floor, without the man even asking. Like he was some kind of fucking puppet-master; she could almost see the strings wrapped around his fingers. Effy wondered what this man was expecting of her. While she took the seat to his right, a waiter appeared out of nowhere with a freshly made cocktail that he dropped in front of her, before disappearing as magically, his hand full of cash. It was a blink-and-you-miss-it gesture, but Effy caught it all the same. A bribe. It didn't take her long to understand, as she noticed the lines of coke among the leftover of champagne and vodka. And the way everyone in the club pretended not to see them suddenly made sense. She took a sip of her glass, enjoying the way sugar covers alcohol.

"You're not even legal, uh?" he finally said in the strangest accent she had ever heard, looking at her drink.

"I'm old enough to know that this isn't legal either," she answered looking at the white powder.

"You're a feisty one," he said with an amused smile. "What's your name?"

"Does it really matter?"

"And smart. I may even like you, minor girl. Just so we're clear, how minor are we talking about?"

"Mature enough not to have sex with you, even for drugs."

"Works for me. I don't want to hurt your feelings, Lolita, but I'm not interested. You're hot and everything but lately I only fuck ballerinas. And no need to sell yourself, you can take all the coke you want. Tonight you're with me; I've got great plans for you."

"Care to share them?" she asked nonchalantly.

"I'm going to introduce you to someone. Don't worry; you're going to like each other. I'm gathering people here to throw him a little party at his hotel. You see, Lolita, my friend refuses to get out of his suite, so I'm bringing the party to him. And you, honey, are the pearl of this party," he said.

He looked at her with a smile; she was breathing heavily, wondering whether she should accept or run. But she was curious, and she had nowhere else to go. He stopped her trains of thought by swearing loudly in what sounded like Russian.

"I'm sorry; this pearl metaphor doesn't mean anything in English, right? How is it that you American say? 'The cherry on top?'"

"I'm from England."

"Same difference. Do you speak any other language? French would be OK. Arrgh, it doesn't matter. He speaks English too."

Then he took a massive gold straw out of his pocket and snorted two big fat lines of snow-colored powder, before handing it to her.

"Want some? Has a pretty young thing like you ever done cocaine?"

She took the straw with her usual mysterious smile before snorting a small line without saying anything. For a little while she just enjoyed the effects, before taking a cigarette out of her cleavage.

"Hey, you can't smoke here!"

"Seriously? You find a way to snort your shit here but I'm not allowed to smoke?"

"That's my girl," he laughed. 'Rules never make sense, that why you should break them."

He had barely raised his hand yet somehow the waiter was already there, they talked in what she recognized as French. Her new friend gave the waiter a few bucks and he closed a curtain that she hadn't notice and which separated their table from the rest of the club.

"Go ahead, have your smoke Lolita."

She did, and she fucking enjoyed it.

"What's your name?" she asked suddenly.

He looked surprised, and then smiled. He seemed to find her very entertaining.

"Mirko."

"That's not your real name, is it?"

"Nope. But you didn't tell me yours."

"Yeah, but mine doesn't matter. I'm the girl, I don't need a name. But you, you're not the boy. The boy is the one locked up in his suite. His name doesn't matter either, for tonight he doesn't need another identity than the Boy. But you, who are you exactly?"

"I was so right to choose you. You get more things than any of the other girls I invited at this table. But you're wrong; it's his name that matters, not mine. Wait until you hear who he is."

* * *

Like it? Please review and tell me what you think of my Effy. She's a hard character to write.


	2. Two runaways

A trip for two, to Hell and back.

Two lost souls find each other in Paris. Here starts their crazy journey around the world and inside themselves. Can they handle the truth they're looking for?

The song is Paris by the French group Subway. Listen to it if you can, really, it's beautiful.

* * *

Chuck Bass?

Was it some kind of a code? She asked herself in the hall of the Ritz. It had been the only thing she had understood out of their exchange. The reception guy picked up the phone and, after saying another bunch of French stuff, he led them to a luxurious elevator. The girls around her were buzzing with excitement and it was annoying Effy.

"I can't believe we're actually going to meet Chuck Bass!" one of them exclaimed.

"Who's Chuck Bass?" asked Effy, lighting herself another blunt.

"_D'où tu sors? _He is what everyone is talking about! He just inherited the Bass Empire, even a Brit girl like you must have heard about it. His dad died like a week ago, and now he is the new CEO at only 18. But he disappeared right after. All the medias in the world are looking for him, trying to find him first and get the exclusivity on the scandalous Mr. Bass."

The girl seemed to get more excited the more she talked.

"Yeah, that's why we all signed this confidentiality papers," said a red-haired girl with huge breast.

"She didn't," interrupted Mirko. "She's a minor, it wouldn't have any validity. And I know she's not going to tell."

The special treatment should have made Effy feel special, and it did, but it mostly made her feel uneasy and suspicious.

The suite took up all the last level of the hotel. Mirko entered alone first, to see in what kind of mood the infamous runaway was.

He came back a few minutes later saying that Mr. Chuck didn't feels very well and that he was not currently able to honor them with his presence, however his guests could still enjoy the party he promised them.

For a minute Effy thought she was in one of this horror stories, Edgar Poe's style. The kind of stories in which an ugly minion picks up young people in a place of debauchery, attracts them with promises and luxury to his master's castle, an impressive house for an impressive owner. They find the place empty, but the master haunts the place and will lose the girls in dark hallways in order to kill them one by one.

Maybe it was not a fairy tale. Maybe it was not a "girl meets boy" story. Just some ax crazy rich guy, trying to get his dirty fun on. She pulled herself together quickly. The drugs were making her paranoid. She should stop here for tonight, just drink and enjoy the suite. Maybe sleep a little.

She followed Mirko inside the suite and even if Stoical Effy didn't show it, she couldn't help to be amazed by the beauty of this place. Maybe it was some Fairy Tale shit after all.

"If you want anything, just ask the room service," said Mirko showing them a phone.

The room was certainly one of the most beautiful and expensive suite of the hotel; 300m square of gildings, parquet, mirror and a spectacular view on the Vendôme column that awakened an urge to puke in Effy. But this oh-so luxurious sight was spoiled by the remains of an orgy. Empty bottles and coke leftover could testify of what had happened here. Paranoid Effy didn't like it; she could almost see last night's hangover, bad trip and potential OD from where she stood.

She kept staring while the others got comfortable, gathering around a table and picking up any half-empty bottles they could lay their hands on.

Mirko came back from wherever (she didn't even notice he was gone) with the biggest rock of coke she had ever seen. And she just wanted to kill herself because of how unfair it was that COCAINE, which is only a substance, has an action on her THOUGHTS who are abstract, before remembering that's exactly why she does cocaine in the first place. Keeping that in mind she got pissed off for the good reason: cocaine makes her paranoid and angry, and because of this she couldn't allow herself to play Hoover with this nice rock Mirko was currently turning into perfect lines of white powder.

Trying to control herself and ignore the snorters on her right, and the amazement in their junkie's eyes, she called the room service hoping that her craving for drugs could settle for junk food.

"Room service, what can I do for you?" a polite voice said.

She answered, inspired by some mythical lines from Pulp Fiction; that she can't get out of her head since she's in Paris.

"A Royale with cheese."

The staff person on the other side seemed to choke.

"Le Big Mac," added a very serious Effy.

Still no answer, just a weird strangle sound.

"What? You can't even get me a damn hamburger?"

"I'm so sorry, answered the voice, scared. "But at this time of the night we don't go off the menu."

She sighed.

"Fine," she said before ordering all the crap she could think of to sooth her frustration.

She ordered the white caviar about which Tony had tell her so much good, and how it was worth killing sturgeons. But this definitely incompetent staff person told her they don't have any, so she called him a punk before settling (once again) for beluga. She asked for strawberry, blueberry, cranberry and all the fruits ending by "y" that she could think about. She asked for a screaming orgasm. And yes, of course, it's a cocktail. And no she had no idea what's the recipe. And yes, she enjoyed being such a bitch. Well she didn't really say the last one but that's clearly her answer to this unspoken question. She finished her extravagant order by their best year of Champagne rosé and menthol cigarettes.

Waiting surrounded by all this temptation was killing her. But she's proud of her self-control; she's not an addict, just a user. And she needed things to stay like this. To calm down a little she took a shot of vodka with the coke-heads, before lying down nonchalantly on a sofa. The room service finally arrived and someone in a ridiculous uniform brought her all the shits she asked for, pretending he wasn't seeing any illegal stuffs.

She ate a few raspberries and immediately started feeling way better, much more like herself. Taking a look at the others, she realized they snorted everything. Or apparently some skinny blonde girl did, the others yelled at her but the girl just kept laughing. Two girls tried to make Mirko give them more coke, one's grinding on him and the other is trying to convince him with strong arguments like "If God created coke, it's for it to be shared equally between each of his sheep."

She abandoned them to their own vice, grabbed a bottle of Champagne and went get lost in the luxe of the suite. She drank directly from the bottle, and a few drops of the expensive alcohol managed to escape her lips and ran down her little black dress. She didn't care and continued her path before stopping in front of a large mirror framed in gold, trying to recognize herself in this surrealistic night. She studied quietly the lines of the face reflected by the limpid surface. It was beautiful despite the heavy black make up circling the eyes. It was beautiful but it wasn't her. Or more precisely, it wasn't hers. The image she saw, this face, this body weren't hers. It belonged to anyone who saw it; it belonged to anyone who wanted it.

Leaving her sad thoughts, she went back to exploring this part of the suite. With a childish thrill, she refused to turn the lights on to make the place even more labyrinthine and mysterious. Each new room she discovered was more ridiculously luxurious than the one before. She found a bathroom with a chandelier and a Jacuzzi.

She felt like Alice in fucking Wonderland, lost in a dream world. Like Alice followed the white rabbit, Effy was led to this particular room by a cigar scent. It guided her through the darkness and the endless hallways to where she belonged. It was leading her to him; at least it's what she'll think later.

When she opened the door, she found herself in the first room of the suite she really liked. It wasn't flashy or ridiculously expensive. Instead it oozed class and elegance. Probably an office or a _fumoir_, very 4Os like. It looks more Londonian than French, maybe it's that. Or maybe it was just the darkness that was making her feel at home.

The room was entirely filled by the exquisite smoke, and it's intoxicating. She couldn't see anything but she knew she wasn't alone. As she walked through the room, a surreal feeling overwhelmed her. At this instant, all she could feel or think about was this cigar smoke. She liked it, it was strangely peaceful. She wished she could be a ghost, an illusion as ethereal as this all-encompassing smoke. But it couldn't be, there always was all this energy, this raw energy burning inside her. And then she saw Him. She finally found him, lying in the comforting shadow.

Where was the fabulous monster she had heard so much about? The man she saw was just a boy, a little younger than she had imagined him. A lost boy asleep. He did look like a runaway she thought, but even then she could still feel the burning charisma buried inside him. Irradiant. Yeah, now she understood. She couldn't wait for him to wake up, but at the same time she knew that once he was awake all his innocence would fade away and his angel-like face would be masked by confidence and sin. He would not let her see him, she knew it. Not truly see him. She had to enjoy it before it was over.

She kneeled down the leather sofa, putting her face next to his and let her fingers explore his beautiful face. It was not enough, she needed to get closer (it's never enough for you, said Tony's voice, nothing ever is). Carefully, she lifted up his head from the armrest trying hard not to wake him up, sat on the leather and gently put his head in her lap. It's better she thought, letting herself play with his dark hair and touch the soft skin of his face. He looked less scared, more peaceful.

On the improvised nightstand she found the cigar that had brought her here, still fuming in a golden ashtray. She tried to make smoke ring and continued her blind exploration. Her hand fell on what seemed to be an open crystal bottle, she took a sip and found out it's some damn good whiskey as she enjoyed the sweet burning down her throat. It had been a while since she tasted something that good and she couldn't help thinking that she had just bitten into the Poisoned Apple of her Sleeping Beauty.

But before she even had the time to kiss him, two amazing brown eyes swallowed her into his own world with a mischievous sparkle.

"Hi, I'm Chuck Bass," he whispered in a husky voice.

* * *

_Paris m'isole, me déboussole, ( Paris is isolating me, disorienting me)_

_Paris me perds et me promène ( Paris is losting me and is walking me)_

_dans des artères de foules sans gênes. __( in artery of crowd with no shame ( subway))_

_Paris m'ignore, Paris me bouffe, Paris m'étouffe, ( Paris is ignoring me, Paris is devouring me, Paris is stifling me)_

_Paris se pâme, ( Paris swoons)_

_Paris se moque de moi quand je râme (Paris is mocking me when i struggle)_

_et je suffoque dans les tunnels du RER. __( and i suffocate in the tunnel of the subway)_

_Mais je m'en moque car j'ai ta main, ( But I don't care, cause I've your hand)_

_car j'ai ta main qui me conduit au Paradis, ( cause I've your hand whose leading me to Paradize)_

_dans le plus beau de ce Paris, dans le plus doux de l'infamie. __( in the most beautiful of this Paris, in the sweetest of infamy)_

_Paris m'isole, me déboussole. ( Paris is isolating me, confusing me)_

_Paris me sert une rengaine sur ma chaise froide souterraine. __(Paris serves me a song in my cold underground chair)_

_Paris m'ignore dans les volutes de fumées, (Paris is ignoring me in spirals of smoke)_

_dans les artères étrangers de la seine. __( in the foreign artery of the Seine)_

_Paris me nargue et me provoque ( Paris is tauting and provocating me)_

_mais ce soir je le nargue et je m'en moque (But tonight I taunt him, and I don't care)_

_car j'ai ta main...qui me conduit au Paradis, (Cause I've your hand whose leading me to Paradize)_

_dans le plus beau de ce Paris, dans le plus doux de l'infamie. __(in the best of this Paris, in the sweetest of infamie)_


	3. Through the lookingglass

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, obviously.

So the chapter is kind of confused but it's done on purpose. This is Chuck's pov and he's...not in his right state of mind. Or maybe it's a little because I still don't have an English beta. Any volonteers ?

* * *

He woke up to a pair of wide amazing blue eyes staring at him. The most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen (sorry Nathaniel). Fairy eyes, sparkling and mischievous, full of sadness and joy at the same time. And something else, something he recognized without being able to explain it. He took a look at the owner of those eyes, realizing that, apparently, his head was in her lap.

"Even better," he muttered while taking a closer look at the stranger.

Definitely not a fairy, he thought, fairies don't dress that hot. But then, fairies were not really his field of expertise.

"Hi, I am Chuck bass. Who are you?"

Before she had time to respond, he continued, settling himself at a better angle on her lap.

"Don't answer that," he said. "I know who you are, you're a hallucination. I'm 80 percent sure. The 20 percent left think you're a fairy, by the way. Or a hooker, you're just too hot to be a fairy. But then, fairies are not really the creatures I know best. I should ask Blair, she knows a lot about fairy tales."

Oh right, Blair wasn't talking to him. That was kind of why he had left. Among other things.

He couldn't believe he was so drunk that he forgot about that. But again, it was kind of the point of getting drunk in the first place. He chuckled at how good he was at self-destruction, even when he didn't really mean to.

And it may or may not have been the alcohol but the mysterious stranger seemed to understand his thoughts. The only logical explanation, and Chuck had always been good with logic, was that she was a fairy.

Suddenly he could feel her stroking his hair, and gently caressing his face. His full drunken attention went back to her; she appeared both motherly and mischievous. This was all so surreal, but what in his life wasn't?

His life had always been this strange mix between fairy tale and nightmare, everything around him running too fast to let him really acknowledge how fucked up it was, which was probably the real purpose of fast cars and a shit ton of coke.

Never stop, never look back. Otherwise...

Well, he wasn't really sure he wanted to know what would happen otherwise.

Weirdly, like everything else that night, her presence, her gentle touch, were reassuring. It felt good and it felt right. Comforting in a way that was unknown to him. He looked up at her, really looked this time. And what happened surprised him even more. What he saw, or rather what they shared, because you can't just watch through someone's soul like that without exposing yourself, was like nothing he had ever experienced before (and that was saying a lot, because he was Chuck Bass after all).

He saw her pain. Almost felt it, physically. He saw fire, this raw energy burning inside her without any real purpose. He saw all of her scars, the betrayal, the fighting. He saw love. He saw hope. He saw her consuming lust. He saw her need for destruction and her hate. He saw her intelligence and her Needs. He saw her secrets and mysteries. He caught a glimpse of the life, the force inhabiting Effy Stonem.

He saw himself. Everything he saw in her was echoing inside of him. As if he was just looking through the bloody looking-glass, and peeking at a distort version of himself.

His breath was short, his heart pacing.

"Who are you?" he asked again, but the meaning was different this time.

His voice was low and soft, almost silky. The spark was back in his eyes, alongside a piercing curiosity. He knew she understood him beyond the words.

"The same way you're Chuck, I'm Effy."

"Delighted to meet you."

His typical smirk printed was back on his lips, and he pressed it to her hand. He was Chuck Bass again, no longer this shadowy self-pitying version of himself. With her by his side, he had this feeling he was whole again. He could do anything. He needed to find a way to keep her there.

"It's Mirko, right? Fuck, for a sex-crazed coke-head this guy has always been way better than I give him credit for. He found you. He's good."

She nodded.

"You're not from here," he stated, as if anyone was from expensive hotel room. "Where are you from?"

"You don't need to hear my story. And I don't need to hear yours. There's no point in that, not when mystery is so much better," she said matter-of-factly.

"That's true," he said. "No stories then, but what are you doing here? What are you after?"

"I'm trying to lose myself," she shrugged.

"I am myself too on a trip to perdition, planning to dwell there for a while. Care to join me?"

She smiled and he smirked back. It already seemed to be an old habit. He opened his arms to her and she crawled inside them, letting him hold her while she was half resting on him. There were a few whispers before he fell out of consciousness.

Neither of them was good at trust.

Both of them were use to sleep alone.

Chuck threw girls out of his king-sized bed after one night. He never actually slept with anyone. Not even Blair. With her he couldn't sleep, he was way too afraid she would disappear the moment he would closed his eyes. So he just watched her as she slept, holding her tight so she wouldn't slip away.

In the end he had been the one disappearing while she was asleep. He couldn't stand imagining how hurt she must have felt the morning after. But when he had woken up that night, watching her just hurt too much. She was so beautiful and trusting. He couldn't stand it. How could she be so beautiful and so trusting with him? He didn't deserve beauty and trust, and he had been delusional to even think of it. He needed to go. To get away from her before he tainted her. And get away from any trusting soul, in a place where he could fully sabotage himself, and only him. Away from anyone he could disappoint, from anyone who cared, from anyone he could hurt. In the finest place for destruction and more importantly, a place where she wouldn't be able to find him.

That's why he came to Paris in the first place. The poor girl had such an idealized, romantic idea of Paris she would never look for him there.

Sleepover weren't Effy's thing either. The only person she had been able to sleep with was Tony. When they were little, whenever she had a nightmare (which used to be quite frequent) she would sneak into his bed, without a word. And he would understand, and hold her hand and pet her hair until she fell asleep. It slowly became a comforting routine that they both needed. But then he betrayed her, left her all alone. And she just couldn't sleep anymore. First her parents gave her some pills, but they did weird things to her brain, so she stopped taking them. She gave up on sleeping and started going out every night instead of facing the cold loneliness of her room. She started slow; she was still pretty young, balcony, roof, playground, park and stuff before really going out drinking and partying. But after his accident, it started all over again. It begun while he was still unconscious, or so the doctors claimed. He seemed to be responding to her touch so she got into the habit of lying down next to him in his hospital bed, so he could feel her presence.

Keeping all of this in mind, one could consider that what happened next that night was a miracle, or fate like Chuck Bass himself would think later. Still holding each other firmly, they both fell asleep on the comfortable leather couch.


	4. We're going down

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

A/N: So I know I haven't updated this story in FOREVER, I know, I know, but I never gave up on the idea to finish it someday. It took a while for me to get back to it, and I won't let that happen again.

I've re-written some of the earlier parts and I think this story has really matured. I hope some people are still interested in finding out the ending.

Guys, guys, anyone out there?

Read, enjoy, I'm sorry for the long hiatus.

* * *

**Sugar, we're going down**

A one night miracle was not enough to change a man like Chuck Bass. He woke up the next day like he did the one before, hung over. His head was pounding, his mouth so dry and throat sore. He couldn't feel his nose, but he knew it had bled during the night. He set aside the pretty girl in his arms and tried to get up. His whole body hurt. He could barely stand on his legs, and he felt incredibly dizzy.

He needed coffee and a Xanax, he needed Mirko, he needed a bath, and most of all he needed a line. He left the sleeping girl behind without a glance.

He didn't know his blood marked her in his sleep.

He remembered a time when he used to think, _maybe I should just stop doing this shit_, before taking his first line of the day. Now he just stopped thinking.

He kicked a passed out Mirko, in what appears to be the remains of an early morning orgy. Chuck didn't know any of the girls. Hookers maybe, is the girl from last night one of them? Effy?

He wasn't sure he wanted to know, so he just kicked Mirko harder. The man managed to look both like a baby and a corpse when he slept.

He wasn't sure how it happened, but the girls left and now it was just him and Mirko and the girl and he had his first line of the day.

He kept sniffing like a fucking dog, and he hated it. When Mirko told him his bath was ready, he was starting to lose it. How can Cocaine, which is just a substance, plenty of pretty little shiny molecules united in a fine line of white powder, affect his Thoughts, his Brain and his Body like that?

All he wanted was to cure a broken heart.

That made him laugh like the demented man-child he is. Mirko gave him a look, and he has been getting this one specific look more and more often lately, se he just said thanks, and went to take his fucking bath.

From the extravagant tub, he had one of the best views of Paris. How sick he was of this fucking town. Everything there looked and sang of Blair.

He needed something else to focus on, some other place to go, some other girl to fuck. That's how the memory of Effy resurfaced in his fucked up brain. Weirdly enough, he didn't want to fuck her. She was hot and attractive and, importantly, right there in his hotel room. But she was also a Fairy, a shadow, and his double, his sister.

He wouldn't fuck her he decided, at least not now.

But he had other plans.

He's going to Hell and she's coming with him.

* * *

Review, please, let me know what you think and whether I should continue, what direction you think this should take.

Effy/Chuck are either separated at birth, or soulmates, which do you think?


	5. Turning Point

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

A/N: Here is the new chapter, I hope you'll like it. Enjoy and don't forget to review.

* * *

He left her alone and shivering on the leather sofa and amid the cigar fumes and he tainted her clothes with blood in the night. How symbolic, she thought.

She got up and left the room without rearranging her clothes or trying to tame her wild mane of hair, or even bothering to cover the dry blood that trailed down her chest.

Passing right over where her heart should be. But of course nothing with Effy is like it should, and even her heart is backwards. _Where are you, where are you_, she thought to no one in particular, as she searched inside of her, where her heart should be.

Whatever, she needed to eat. She found food in the lounge area where Mirko was smoking out of a bong.

"Lolita," he called. She could get used to that nickname. She had read the story of Humbert Humbert's girl-child lover way too young and had loved it way too much.

She grabbed a croissant and nodded at the beefy Russian man, before indulging in the most exquisite breakfast she ever had. But once her stomach satisfied she found that her mind wasn't. She observed the man attentively, he seemed different in the light of day, but maybe it was just her mind that was clearer.

He looked like some kind of boxer, or wrestler or something. She could tell his nose had been broken many times. He was a fighter and he was built like a house.

"Who are you?" she asked again. But this time it wasn't out of curiosity, but distrust. The man looked more out of place than her in this place.

"No one, I told you. I'm not the one that matters. He is."

His accent seemed heavier, but maybe it was just the smoke, coming in and out of his mouth, that made his voice hoarser.

"Then where is he?"

"Bathroom. Why don't you go and see for yourself?"

She shrugged, gulped down some more coffee and went.

"By the way, there's blood on you girl," he called from behind as she left the room.

Chuck looked half-dead when she came into the room. He rested, immobile in the water with the stereo blasting something depressing Effy didn't recognize.

"Hey," she said.

Chuck grunted in response. She let herself slid against the tub, resting her back against the cold marble and her head next to his. His dark hair was wet and smelled of vanilla and musk and whatever other shit they put in his expensive product.

He turned to face the back of her head.

"Come into the water with me?" he asked to her messy hair.

The tub felt too big for him to be alone in it, she saw that. The loneliness of a little boy lost in an absurd world.

She accepted, a bath would feel good. She stripped down to her bra and panties—she knew he meant well, but the Devil was not someone you wanted to tempt—and joined him in the bath.

The hot water felt so good against Effy's skin, how long had it been since she last enjoyed a hot bath? The time when she and Tony would share bubble bath before bed felt like it belonged in another life time.

She wiped off her smeared make up with a handful of bubbles that burned her blue eyes, but it felt so good to be clean. Chuck watched her as she got comfortable and enjoyed the small delight, even sighed, his eyes half-closed lazily.

"I have a plan," he said after a while.

She smiled her mysterious smile, the one that said _I know a secret_ and _I know all of your secrets, nothing you can say will surprise me._

That smile was unnerving, so he didn't wait for her to ask, the girl wasn't exactly loquacious from what he could tell.

"I'm going to Hell."

"I've been told that's where I'm headed too," she said lightly.

"Good because I'm taking you with me."

"Then you should know something about Hell: the whole point is to come back."

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What did you think? Where should they go next? London? Madrid? Ibiza? Las Vegas? Hong Kong?

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xx


	6. Just a hotel room

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

A/N: Thanks to those who support this story. This chapter is about Effy experiencing Chuck's world.

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_"'Cause It's Just A Hotel Room _

_And We're Only Human _

_But I've Got Something To Prove _

_And A Reason To Treat You Like I Love You."_

_Hotel Room by the Smoke Fairies_

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A hotel room is much like another; even expensive ones.

Effy learned that quickly. Chuck had learned it too young, growing up all around the world in those impersonal, interchangeable rooms.

They were on the fifth hotel and the third country. They partied hard and moved fast, leaving all their problems behind, under the leftover of coke-fueled orgies.

Whores were the same everywhere too, Effy learned. She didn't get why they needed so much of them to party, but Mirko claimed that their presence was necessary. Chuck didn't seem to disagree, even if he rarely took one (or more) back to his bedroom. Mirko was the one doing most of the whoring. He even, enthusiastically, paid Effy her first prostitute.

The girl's skin was dark and soft, and she smelled of sugar and cigarette. She couldn't have been much older than Effy. Effy had no desire for the girl, but she felt daring that night. All the eyes in the room were on her, and she could feel the weight of Chuck's gaze among them. She didn't want to disappoint, so she put on a show of slowly moving hips and adventurous touching. She laid down the girl on the sofa and straddled her hips, gyrating above her. Music was blazing and people were screaming, but she was death to all except the mute eyes of Chuck on her skin.

The girl must have been higher than Effy had realized, because she reached up and tried to kiss her, but she avoided her lips right on time. Even Effy knew, you just didn't kiss a hooker.

The girl looked taken aback, ashamed. But Effy smiled, took her hand and got up, and with one last look at Chuck, she led the girl to her room.

Chuck Bass was more affected than he wanted to admit. Near Effy he felt something, a thrill, he felt alive again. She was the one girl who didn't remind him of Blair, because with Effy he wasn't trying to forget her. Instead at her contact he fully embraced the part of him that Blair made disappear. She was the Anti-Blair.

Or rather, another version of Blair, fucked up and drugged up, a Blair too much like him; with his eyes, and his soul and his sins. It was an awe-inspiring that, that filled him with thrills and anticipation. It felt like looking at a distorting image of himself. Half nightmare, half wonder.

And tonight when these eyes—his eyes—had looked at him they said _I'm not afraid of anything_.

And then she had disappeared with the girl. It had been Mirko's idea. A test, before Dubai, he had said, and Chuck had gone with it. He was curious, always eager to see how she would react. And she never disappointed. Tonight had been no exception.

Effy didn't come out of her room for hours, and when she did, Chuck was right there, waiting. There was no hiding the interest and expectation in his eyes, and they were met with a mocking gleam in Effy's eyes.

"I hope you enjoyed your little test," she said her mysterious smile on full display, "I know I did."

He didn't say anything, but Mirko clapped her on the back and welcomed her to the family.

"You're ready now" he said.

But it was clear in the look that passed between Effy and Chuck that she was born ready.

She was one of them now. They were a family, a pack. They were just as fucked up as the others, each in their own way. Strangely assorted, but united, they boarded the private jet for Dubai under the night sky.

This time, as the jet flew over the clouds, Effy knew the truth. They were only trading a hotel room for a new one.

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